


teach me, teach me

by bloodrunsred



Series: just a little bit broken [16]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Disappointment, Enabler, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Pedophilia, Sad Ending, Short, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-09-26 07:37:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20386072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodrunsred/pseuds/bloodrunsred
Summary: It wasn't Brandon Goldenfold's job to notice things about his students. He didn't need to notice the bags under Morty's eyes, or the concealer on his neck, but he did anyways. And, like most things to do with Morty Smith, he knew it started and ended with Rick Sanchez.He didn't have to like it but, well, what was a man to do?





	teach me, teach me

**Author's Note:**

> grew up in the french court wee wee bone jaw
> 
> also y'all should read my other works, 'The Seance' and 'word of mouth' bc I love them.

Brandon Goldenfold was many things.

A sheep, a coward, an avid television watcher. A bad teacher, a worse person, and an idiot. For all these things, though, no-one would tell you that he was blind. Because he wasn't; he had a keen eye for detail, for things that benefited him, and things that didn't. He kept an eye on the changing times and the way people acted around him, and he noticed things. Not things that an average person wouldn't, but he liked to think that he actually did things with what he knew. He made decisions. 

The decisions weren't always good, but he still sat down on his couch and thought about things. Morty Smith was nearly a constant presence in his mind, with the way he fell asleep in class, all the while he fell further and further behind in his work. The bags under his eyes grew larger and darker, and his clothes always looked ragged or wrinkled whenever he did show up to class. Now, Brandon already knew that he was a terrible teacher. His students didn't learn, he spent half the time in class day-dreaming, and he didn't exactly make a good impression on parents.

But he had a job to do, and he would be damned if one little kid was the thing that stopped him from getting the pay rise he needed.

Don't get him wrong, Morty Smith wasn't a bad kid. He had a few issues, sure, but he was barely there whenever he wasn't being dragged away by his grandfather. He was unnoticeable, unobtrusive, and basically the perfect student except for his grades and attendance. He had no friends to speak of which ruled out note passing, and Brandon had seen him using a phone all of three times in the entire time he had been teaching him.

The opposite of his sister.

Most children with siblings in the same school as them loved to show off their differences; they dyed their hair, went in opposite directions with their education, and purposefully ignored each other in the hallway. They wrinkled their noses and clenched their jaw tight if compared to their sister or brother, but the truth was that siblings were always, always similar in a few different ways. They would have both picked up the same kind of language from their parents, the same way of expressing themselves and their emotions, the same nervous ticks.

With all his experience, Brandon could confidently say that Summer and Mortimer were night and day.

Summer was always surrounded by people, her peers and classmates looking to her for direction as she grew into herself as a leader. She took no shit, went on her phone openly in class, and giggled the hour away over whatever new scandal had erupted at the time. She swore, held her chin up high, and looked down on everyone, treating them like bugs underneath the heel of her stylish flats. She was the reason that most of the new staff ended up crying hysterically in the breakroom, because she was just as good at giving people public tongue lashings as she was at influencing her friends.

Morty was the night to her blinding day. He was subtle, unnoticed, and couldn't capture people the way his sister did. The sun could grow crops, the day brought playing and friendship, and Summer was worthy of the season she had been named after. Morty stuttered, repeating himself over and over until Goldenfold was tempted to throttle the boy, and hunched in on himself like he was trying to become invisible through sheer will alone. 

They used different slang, got riled up over different things and, if Brandon were guessing through personality alone, he would think that they had been raised by separate people. He knew Elizabeth, their mother, well enough to be familiar with the smell the alcohol on her breath, though Jerry was far more involved with the school. Jerry was a coward, and wimp, and folded like a deck of cards whenever his daughter gave him a dressing down in front of other people. 

It was amusing at times, but it struck a chord in some of the other teachers. Not Brandon, though; no, he specifically made sure to stay out of the Smith family's business. He knew Rick Sanchez better than he knew either of the parents. He was an arrogant, crude, and disturbing individual (which said a lot coming from him).

There were things that teachers just knew, from training, instinct, or experience. So Brandon noticed.

He noticed the way that Morty's eyes widened with something other than joy whenever Rick portalled into the room. Most children would be jumping at joy to leave school, and Morty's face only shifted before falling flat until he looked eerily like his grandfather. Brandon sighed as Morty's head fell to hit his desk, the deep _thunk _of a skull connecting with wood startling surrounding students from whatever they were doing on their phones. They turned back to their messaging or posting once they noticed where the sound had come from, and Brandon wished he was allowed to just let the kid sleep.

Because he was asleep. Despite the fact that he had hit the table hard, Brandon could see his breathing rustle the papers he was supposed to be writing in. But the principal had been cracking down recently, popping in on classes to see which teachers were slacking, and Brandon was not about to be caught. The first few times this had happened, teachers had freaked out. 

Miss Hyney, his old history teacher, and called an ambulance after failing to wake him. She had disappeared shortly after, and Morty was absent for over two weeks. When he came back, he looked even more tired than ever, and hadn't been to history since. His new teacher barely knew his name, let alone his face, and it wasn't Brandon's job to educate her on the Smith family. But the other teachers were more than happy to break out with gossip whenever they were in the relative safety of the breakroom, heads bent together conspiratorially. 

"Morty Smith, wake up!" A few other students snickered, but a few more harsh words shut them up soon enough. They fell back on their teenage apathy, and Morty Smith remained asleep. "Smith!" Oh well, Brandon shrugged to himself as he was ignored once again, placing his feet back on his desk from where they had fallen down. If the principal came, he could always say he had tried his best.

He hadn't, but who was to know? 

The class was supposed to be studying for a test, but it was a relatively easy one. When people started to rush around last minute, and employing smarter students for help, they'd work that out. Most of them would pass, and that would look good to the rest of the faculty. There were a few that would fail, but they were the hopeless. The ones that would never get it, the ones that would never pass, and the most likely to overdose on their mom's pain killers.

Sure, they all talked about their students and their futures. It was probably the most interesting part of their day, when they would gather around coffee and scattered papers, whispering as though saying their students' names would summon them.

Jessica, for her brains and looks, would make a pretty decent talk-show host, they had all decided.

Brad would be a forgettable athlete from a forgettable team.

Summer had changed in the wake of her parents divorcing, leaving them all split between a celebrity or a serial killer.

Morty was... uncertain, when they brought him up, too absorbed in worlds beyond their belief to even think about a life for him on Earth. It wasn't like they knew what he got up to whenever his grandfather dragged him away, after all (though they had been involved in enough apocalypses to have a decent idea). They had thrown around a few ideas after pouring a little liquid courage into their coffees, of what his future might look like.

Ambassador of the Moon.

Scientist.

A particularly drunk substitute slurred out that she'd eat her hat if he hadn't killed himself before college, and they laughed in agreement. If there was any truth in the world, it was that Morty Smith was the human equivalent of play-dough. He didn't stand up for himself, didn't have any friends, and wasn't passing even one of his classes. Outside of his and Rick's escapades, he was nothing. If Rick didn't constantly disrupt classes, Brandon had no doubt that none of the teachers wouldn't have a clue about his existence at all.

It might have been a horrible thing to laugh about but, well, they never actually claimed to be good people. What did it matter?

For all Morty Smith flinched at the slightest contact, for all he melted into goo at affection, and for all he passed out in classes, there was one thing that Brandon was certain of; its cause.

The bell rung, and life continued on through the bubble of thought that Brandon had created for himself. He stood, and the bubble popped, the sound bouncing in his ears as he called out for Morty to stay behind. It wouldn't have mattered if he had or hadn't, because the boy was sat tiredly at his desk still, eyes blank as he stared at his worksheet. He hadn't started yet.

"Morty Smith!" He wasn't yelling, but it was a near thing. Now, Morty had had numerous different reactions to yelling in the past. Staying asleep, turning into a car, crying, hiding under his desk... but the dead, blank stare that the boy turned on him had to be the most horrifying of them all. A cold trickle of sweat dripped down Brandon's spine, as he noticed things.

_Instincts will be instincts._

Morty was wearing longer sleeves today.

_Instincts will be instincts._

There was a splotchy bruise that his sleeve didn't quite cover.

_Instincts will be instincts._

There was concealer on Morty's neck, poorly applied. Brandon knew, because his (ex) wife, had been obsessed with watching reality television, and pointing out every flaw in every woman's makeup, until it became a habit of his own. His eyes mapped it, he mentally catalogued it, and he let it go. It wasn't his job to notice that.

"Oh, geez," Morty said. "I'm--I'm really, really sorry, Mr. Goldenfold, I didn't mean to fall asleep again! It's just that--I mean, my grandpa keeps accidentally taking me out for a long time, and it makes me a little tired. I'll--I'll make up all the work, I promise, just please don't call my Mom, or Rick, _please_-"

Why did Mortimer had to look like that? Tired and borderline tearful, eyes shining with tiredness and a fear that Goldenfold had ignored a few times in the past. And what became of those kids? Drunks or dead, and no better off than if he had signed their death off himself. He didn't feel guilty; he wasn't the one that had hurt them, but he sometimes let himself wonder what might have happened if he had decided that enough was enough.

He shook himself of the thought. It was above his pay-grade.

"Look, Morty, I don't want to call your parents any more than you want me to call them," Brandon said. It was a lie, because he didn't really give a shit as long as he was doing the bare minimum. "But you can't keep distracting the other students! Do you know what happens if too many people get bad scores on the next test? I get the blame for it, and that will leave me with money issues that'll see me wasting the precious money I have on therapy!"

Morty's expression wavered. "There's a test coming up? Oh man, I didn't even know. I'm so sorry, what's it about? When is it?"

"Just get out, Morty."

There have, of course, been teachers before Brandon that had bothered giving a shit. They never lasted long, their memories wiped clean, or their bodies never discovered after their disappearances, but Brandon knew better than some others. Or he just wasn't so willingly mislead. Morty was nodding his head furiously, ducking his head to look at his wrist, like he was expecting a watch to be there. There wasn't one, but a bruise became easier for Brandon to spot. He looked away. "Yes, sir. Rick said that he would be here to pick me up soon anyway-"

And, like Morty was capable of summoning the devil himself, the room was lit up by a sickly green glow, one that was familiar to the both of them for different reasons. Sanchez already had his brow furrowed in question as he stepped to Morty's side, his hand settling around the base of Morty's neck. His fingers dug into where the covered marks had been, in a way that certainly looked painful.

"You--you have a fucking problem, or something?" Sanchez asked, irritable. Goldenfold noticed the way the fingers of his free hand dipped into one of his pockets, like he was tempted to reach for something. "Morty, what the fuck were you--what are you doing?"

Morty's hands strayed to tug at the hem of his shirt, his eyes darting up to look at his grandfather in the face. "Nothing, I swear! I just--I just accidentally f-fell asleep, and I was getting in trouble. That's all, I s-swear. Right, Mr Goldenfold?"

A good teacher might question Sanchez. Might tug Morty away from where his neck was being held steadfast, or they might ask Morty if he was actually okay. Brandon knew he wasn't a good teacher. He knew it didn't matter what he did, if he did anything at all, and he didn't want to be dragged into the Smith's family drama. Sure, he occasionally had fantasies about some of the more mature girls in his class, but he wasn't a fucking _predator_, or sicko.

Most people would stick their neck out, but Brandon liked to think he was more careful than most, and better at protecting himself than he was other people. Why not play to his strengths and look out for number one? "Yeah," Brandon said, crossing his arms over his chest and moving to sit back in his chair. Distancing himself. "That's all."

Sanchez eyed him for another moment, before chuckling in good nature. "Again, Morty?" He slapped the teen's back, and Goldenfold let himself relax. "What's the--the point in begging to come to school, if you're not even awake during it?"

Morty didn't try to make eye contact, which was good. Other students had tried in similar situations, and he had denied them of that too; they hadn't even had Rick Sanchez behind them, and he had still said no. What made Morty worthy of it, more than them? Sure, he was younger, and sadder, but that didn't make him better. Goldenfold had seen him do shitty things.

Maybe this was karma.

The two left, the green portal closing behind them, and Brandon just sighed before turning back to do some actual work. He might not like it but, really; was Morty Smith worth it?

He didn't think so.

**Author's Note:**

> y'all i meant to get this out so long ago,,,, and then my life lowkey spiralled and now i have eleven people living in my house, and my cousin is using my laptop 24/7 for uni. i promised some of you guys that i chat with on other sites/privately that it would be out soon so,,, sorry dudes!!!
> 
> and, guys, bc im mad curious, i have but one question:
> 
> if i came out with an original story would y'all be willing to buy it?? I have a work in progress at the moment that is somewhat similar to this series themes-wise (not really, but slightly?), and I'm just curious if there would be anyone in the position to buy it when I finally finish it!
> 
> morty's authority figures never fail to disappoint me in the show, so i hope this holds true to that. i don't really like this, but i think that's because im not used to the character!


End file.
